


and the fruit of your womb is...

by FeatheredShadow



Category: Borgia: Faith and Fear
Genre: Episode Related, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Rape Aftermath, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-14 08:55:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16489514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeatheredShadow/pseuds/FeatheredShadow
Summary: You think me a boy of privilege, that I do not know pain. I have been tested by many, more powerful than you, yet here I stand. I have risen from the flames before and I will rise in them again, a phoenix.Alessandro Farnese knew carrying out missions for the Pope came with a price - he just didn't expect for the toll to be taken on both body and soul, multiple times.





	and the fruit of your womb is...

**Author's Note:**

> If canon is going to deliver the hurt, but not the comfort, then I have to do it myself. This fic deals with what happened to Cesare at the hands of Marcantonio Colonna, more specifically the repercussions, and takes place during 2x03 and 2x04. Nothing explicit, but if that kind of topic upsets you, don't read.  
> Also, presence of multiple Catholic prayers, in Latin (translation in the end notes).

_Florence, Lent 1494._

“No.” He barely recognized his voice, nothing more than a whimper, and kept fighting, trying to get free from the ropes that were holding him down. He felt as he was choking up, cold hands roaming all over his body and forcing his legs to open, despite his best efforts to keep them close. He could feel the breath of Marcantonio Colonna on his face, turning his blood to ice and making him freeze in terror.

_Cesare._

He could hear his name being called, a distant sound, and kept fighting to get away, trying to escape from the hands that were holding him by the shoulders.

_Cesare, wake up._

“Let me go!” he hissed, fighting back against the form over him.

_“Wake up, Cesare!”_

He suddenly opened his eyes, barely seeing anything in the room that was barely lit by the moonlight, his senses needing a few seconds to adjust to the reality of the room.

Alessandro Farnese was standing over him, a worried look on his face, nightcap half-fallen from his head, still holding him by the shoulders, although his hold lessened easily once it was clear he was awake and aware of his surroundings.

“We’re in Florence, Cesare,” Alessandro said in a low voice, squeezing his shoulders before letting go and sitting down on the bed, close enough that he was touching his leg.

Cesare sat up slowly, feeling tremors all over his body and trying to hide them the best he could, taking in the whole situation. Florence… the Pope had sent them here to deal with Savonarola, and they had somewhat managed to establish a truce on their journey there. Nothing quite like a common enemy to have them sticking together again… And now a trial by fire was supposed to take place in the morning after. They had been staying in the Benedictine monastery, in a shared cell that had reminded them of their time at the seminary.

That had reminded _Cesare_ of their time at the seminary, at least, and given how easily they both had fallen back into their old habits, he suspected it had been the same for Alessandro.

“Did I wake you up?” Cesare finally asked once he had managed to put himself into a sitting position, feeling his nightgown clinging to his skin, cold sweat making him shiver.

Alessandro shrugged.

“You know I’m a little sleeper,” he said in a calm voice before raising up. “Do you want some wine?”

“Please,” Cesare said in a low voice, tasting cooper in his mouth.

He surreptitiously checked his lips while Alessandro was pouring the wine into a glass, wincing a little when he saw blood on his fingers. Great, he had managed to bite himself once again in his sleep – a habit he had never been able to shake off ever since… ever since…

“Here, drink that,” and Cesare came back to the present as Alessandro was putting a full glass on his hands.

Wine spilled on the rough sheets as Cesare took hold of the glass, hands shaking so much that Alessandro had to help him raise it to his lips, a concerned expression on his face.

His fingers were warm around Cesare’s wrist and it grounded him a little, reminding him where he was.

Florence, and in the company of a friend – of an ally, at least.

They remained in silence until he was done with the sweet, honeyed-wine.

“Did I…” Cesare had to stop for a moment, his voice not very assured. “Did I say anything?”

Alessandro was silent for a moment, putting the empty glass back on the little table between their two beds before sitting on the mattress again, thigh against calf.

“Not really. Well,” he amended, “nothing that anyone could have understood, anyway.”

ooOoo

“You didn’t say any name,” Alessandro added, noticing the hollow look in Cesare’s eyes.

His friend (former friend? he didn’t want to dwell on it right now) looked terrible in the moonlight, the spilled wine on the sheets reminding him of blood. He had seen that look in Cesare’s eyes before – when he had come back from his time in Marino, and it had taken weeks for it to go away, leaving a broken shell behind.

Cesare was a good actor and knew how to put on a front, a very convincing front, but he knew better than most.

And Cesare was brittle right now, a mess of broken pieces that wasn’t held up by his red robes anymore.

“I’m sorry I woke you up,” Cesare said in a voice so low he barely heard it.

Alessandro shrugged again, not really bothered. Sleep had been elusive ever since the Holy Father had sent them both to Florence, and they were in enemy territory here – better not to sleep too soundly.

“It’s alright,” he said, still looking at Cesare, trying to decipher the shadows on his face.

Everyone knew a hurt, wounded wild animal was more dangerous than a healthy one and he intended on making it out of Florence alive, whether their mission was a success or not. And if that meant pacifying a hurt wolf… well, he had done it before, and he could do it again.

Besides, he couldn’t quite bear to see Cesare in such a state, bad blood between them be damned. They had been friends for too long for him to be indifferent to Cesare’s suffering – or worse, rejoice in it, as he knew Juan Borgia had done so.

The moonlight’s rays glinted on the wooded beards of his rosary – one that was especially dear to him, offered by his dear Giulia for his communion.

“Do you want to pray a little, Cesare?” he offered, a little unsure of the answer he would get.

Cesare had been unhinged in Naples, that was common knowledge, but… he had never been one to scorn on praying – not when it came from the heart.

“Why not,” Cesare said in response, shrugging a little – or was it a shiver brought by the cold?

Alessandro settled more comfortably on the bed, watching for a sign of attack – but no, there was only fleeting surprise on Cesare’s face before his mask came back – and he offered his hands, palms upside, waiting until Cesare took hold of his hands.

Touch was grounding in that kind of situation, that much he had learned when he had taken care of Cesare after his return from his stay – his captivity – with the Colonna. Hands and wrists and shoulders – that one being a little tricky, and requiring attention to every reaction – and the neck sometimes, but it had done worked well enough. There had only been the physician and a servant to help Cesare bath, and take care of his wounds, but afterwards, it had been him, Alessandro, who had acted as a buffer and a protector when red cardinal’s robes hadn’t been enough.

When the nights had been long and filled with ghosts.

He hoped Marcantonio Colonna was rotting in hell – not very charitable of him, maybe, but to see the hold he still had over Cesare from the grave, well… he didn’t think he was ever going to forgive the man who had turned his lion of a best friend, dramatic as he could be, into a hurt wolf ready to attack at the slightest move.

(He was sure Cesare wouldn’t have attacked him over the fate of his son, if it hadn’t been for Colonna.)

_“Pater noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum_ _…”_

It was easy, praying to the Lord, but something was brewing in the shadows over Cesare’s face – a storm, or something else?

_“Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum_ _…”_

Words were falling down easily, Cesare’s voice lower than his own, and he already wasn’t speaking very high, careful not to wake the monks in neighbor cells…

_“… et maledictus fructus ventris tui_ _…”_

_Maledictus?_ No, he must have misheard, Cesare wouldn’t have blasphemed like that… He felt his body tensing, almost missing on the rest of the prayer as Cesare went on, unbothered. Alessandro couldn’t see his face, bent down and hidden by the long hair that was falling in front of it, but the sight did not make him feel any better – quite the contrary, actually. By the Heavens, the situation was worse than he had thought…

_“Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc, et in hora mortis nostrae. Amen_ _.”_

Alessandro followed immediately with another prayer, not wanting to let Cesare think he had won that part – praying was supposed to offer comfort and salvation, after all, when all other words had failed, and he wasn’t going to fail.

Even if they had to stay up until dawn.

Being a wild, mad beast did not suit Cesare Borgia.

_“Salve Regina, misericordiae, vita, dulcedo, et spes nostra, salve. Ad te clamamus exsules filii Hevae. Ad te Suspiramus, gementes et flentes in hac lacrimarum valle_ _…”_

Cesare’s voice seemed to die out as they kept praying, his fingers cold around Alessandro’s skin – and he wasn’t a superstitious man, not for a ducat, but he wondered if this was how it felt, to have Death’s breath upon your skin.

Still, he kept praying, voice firm and clear, the low sounds rolling into their cell. Cesare’s breath had gone a little erratic, and he had become hunched on himself, his grip tightening onto Alessandro’s wrist until it almost became painful.

Until clouds came to cover the moonlight and the room was plunged into darkness, and he felt water falling onto his hands.

Cesare was crying, he suddenly realized, trying to keep the noise in and barely succeeding. Alessandro couldn’t see if his lips were still moving or not but it didn’t matter. He could pray for the two of them if it could bring Cesare some comfort – if not peace – and he could do it all night long if necessary.

As the words kept pouring from his lips, he delicately removed his left hand from its hold and went to put in on Cesare’s neck, gently stroking the skin in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. Cesare had tensed a little at the contact, his own hand tightening before letting go and holding instead onto the sheet, head still bent. He seemed to relax onto the touch and Alessandro was careful not to let go, keeping his voice even and his touch soothing.

_“…Passio Christi, conforta me, O bone Iesu, exaudi me, Intra tua vulnera absconde me, Ne permittas me separari a te_ _…”_

The prayers stretched into the night and he soon started to feel his voice going hoarse and in a need of water, but he kept going, secure in the knowledge of his position. Grace was guiding his choice of prayers and he felt himself slipping into a secondary state, where his voice was but a mere vessel to the Holy Words.

Had anyone asked me how long he had kept praying while Cesare Borgia was crying his suffering out under his hands, he couldn’t have said – but he knew when they both finally reached a state of serenity.

_“…Agnus Dei, quitollis peccata mundi: miserere nobis. Agnus Dei, quitollis peccata mundi: dona nobis pacem_ _…”_

Cesare’s voice had joined his again, a bit shaky and extremely low, but still there. He smiled a little before going ahead, feeling comforted in his choice when Cesare squeezed his wrist, signaling he was ready to face the world again.

His breathing was even now and the skin of his neck had warmed up to the touch.

_“Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum. Benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Iesus._ _Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc, et in hora mortis nostrae. Amen_ _.”_

The words died out in the silence of the room, settling over them until Cesare straightened and let go of both his hand and the sheets. Alessandro released his neck from his hold and straightened too, trying to gauge Cesare’s state despite the hair that was still falling in front of his eyes.

The moon was visible again, her light hitting the wooden beards of his rosary, and he brought his attention back onto Cesare, who was looking at him with an undecipherable expression on his face.

“You are a kind man, Alessandro,” Cesare finally said, voice a little hoarse, and Alessandro looked at him with surprise, pleased at the words. “A true Christian.”

“Well, thank you. I try to be,” he said in a calm voice, not bothering to try and hide his feelings. “How are you feeling?”

Cesare remained silent for a moment, looking at the shadow form on the ground between their two beds before speaking.

“I think I will sleep now. Well, try to, because Matins will soon be upon us,” he added with a wry smile, and Alessandro snorted a little at that.

“I don’t think they expect us to attend _that_ one,” he said in return, getting a chuckle – feeble, but still there – out of Cesare. “We’re not monks, after all.”

“ _That_ we’re not,” Cesare said before yawning.

His yawn was contagious and Alessandro soon found himself back to bed, shivering a little as he hid between the cold sheets. He missed the warmth of another body in his bed – nights spring in Florence really weren’t as warm as they ought to be.

They settled comfortably, a serene silence over them, as the sounds of the night could barely be heard through the window. Alessandro was already fast on his way to go back to sleep when he heard a voice calling to him, so low he wasn’t sure he hadn’t dreamed it.

“Thank you, Alessandro.”

“You’re welcome,” he mumbled, opening his eyes with an effort to catch sight of Cesare’s body, facing him with his back against the wall, hair covering his eyes again. “That’s what friends are for.”

But he couldn’t have sworn he hadn’t dreamed it, too.

**Author's Note:**

> Prayers translation:  
> -Pater Noster: _Our Father, Who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name..._  
>  -Ave Maria: _Hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen._  
>  -Hail Holy Queen: _Hail, Holy Queen, Mother of mercy, our life, our sweetness and our hope. To thee do we cry, poor banished children of Eve: to thee do we send up our sighs, mourning and weeping in this valley of tears._  
>  -Anima Christi: _Passion of Christ, strengthen me, Kind Jesus, hear my prayer, Hide me within your wounds, And keep me close to you..._  
>  -Agnus Dei: _Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world, have mercy upon us. Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world, grant us peace._
> 
> Comments are always appreciated :)


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